To Die By Your Side
by JohnLennonsThighs
Summary: Nora's anorexic, quiet, fragile, parentless. Good thing she's got four boys who love her oh so very much. But who will win her affection?
1. Chapter 1

_Never once had I thought things would turn out this way. But that's alright. Because like Morrissey would say nearly 10 years after my death, "To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die." Die by your side, I did. And for that I am eternally grateful. _

Nora's POV

I remember the first day we _really_ met, or rather night. It was late October of 1959, nearly Halloween. My 16th birthday had come and gone on the 9th, the same day as John's. Except he was 3 years my elder. None of that particularly mattered, though, seeing as we hadn't spoken much to each other until that fateful night. A friend of a friend hosted a party, inviting a bunch of college students as well as the occasional teenager such as myself stupid enough to hang around the older kids. John Lennon was one of those college students. I didn't know him, but I did know _of _him. Everyone in those parts of town knew John Lennon. He was a notorious heartbreaker, secret poet and the resident bad boy. If you hung around with John long enough, you'd undoubtedly be labelled a troublemaker.

It just so happened that one of my closest friends, George Harrison was one of those unfortunate boys who recieved the misnomer of 'punk'. I say misnomer because George was the complete opposite of anything generally associated with the name John Lennon. He was sweet, caring, gentle and well-mannered, as well as highly intelligent and mature. The same went for another of John's best mates, Paul McCartney. Paul had a baby face with big doe eyes and a dainty nose. His feminine attributes had even made him the target of several bullies across Liverpool, earning him the title of 'queer' until he joined up with John. See, nobody in their right mind would ever think of challenging John. He was the unspoken Superman of Liverpool. You wouldn't think twice of crossing him.

George and I had come to the party nearly 2 hours ago and I'd lost sight of him about 40 minutes in. The majority of the population there were friendly enough, but I wasn't. I was shy, a little agitated and extremely anxious. None of my close friends were at the party except George and I was pretty sure someone had put something other than beer in the paper cup I was holding. Dizzying lights, blaring music and twirling figures mixed with the sweltering heat of bodies pressed tight together, making my head swim. I elbowed my way through the crowd desperately, the empty red cup now crumpled in a clenched fist. Shouts of protest and looks of annoyance were aimed in my direction, but for the most part everyone simply ignored me, bopping to the Chuck Berry that had been turned up so loud it had been reduced to a series of fuzzy screeches and howls.

A blast of frosty air hit me full on as I shoved through the back door, tossing my cup to the ground. I gasped, gulping in the fresh air as if I'd just resurfaced from deep water. A curl of cigarette smoke flowed from a faint orange dot stuck on the end of a white stick. That white stick protruded from the thin lips of none other than the infamous John Lennon himself. My gaze wandered up from his lips, past his long nose, up to those brown eyes that appeared black in the faint orange moonlight. A stare-down resulted, lasting for what could have been hours as I sunk under his unwavering glare. He looked away first, turning his attention back to the sickly tangerine moon. I sat down beside him on the cold iron bench, the boisterous commotion inside the only thing breaking the silence as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"Are you alright?"

I was caught off guard, jumping a little as his voice sounded to my right. "What?"

He was staring straight at me, the cigarette that had been perched between his lips now a pile of ashes and paper on the wooden porch at our feet. "Are you alright? You look a little pale; a little frightened, even."

When I didn't answer, he took it as a sign to continue. "Have you got a friend or maybe a boyfriend to take you home? Because honestly, love, you look like death."

"Thanks," I muttered, standing abruptly, "but no thanks. I just needed some fresh air. I'll be okay."

And with that I turned on my heel and walked back to the party, which was definitely my biggest mistake of the night. I didn't know exactly why I'd left him out there. I genuinely enjoyed his company, unlike the rest of the people in there. They were all drunk, passed out, sick or high. It seemed nobody there was in a state of mind to take me home, even if I'd wanted to leave. I searched for George amongst the cluster of bodies, yet another drink being passed to me by some faceless hand. After 20 minutes and no sign of George, I chugged the mystery drink down, feeling angry and reckless. My vision turned even blurrier than before and I felt myself swaying from side to side, stumbling up a staircase. The cup dropped from my hand and I nearly fell over.

"Hey, watch your step there, doll," a vaguely familiar voice called from a million miles away.

"Wh-"

"Come with me. I'll take good care of you," he said, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I staggered through a doorway, supported by one of the 'jocks' from my school. His name was Justin, I recalled. Where was he taking me? Justin released me from his grip, practically pushing me to an awaiting bed that most likely belonged to the host's parents. Everytime I'd try to say something, the words would get caught in my throat and I'd end up making little incoherent noises instead, my mind a jumble of pictures, words and ideas. Justin's hands felt warm on my legs, skimming up under the hem of my dress to pull the fabric up to my waist. I lay there like a limp noodle, my brain screaming that this was all wrong, yet my body doing nothing about it. Numb. All the little connectors that jutted from my brain to my nerves were dead, snipped like live wires. While my mind shouted commands, my body lay unresponsive.

"Such a beautiful little thing. Are you new to Liverpool? 'Cause I sure as hell would remember seeing _you. _What's your name, pretty?" He held a one-sided conversation as he fondled me. "Ah, fuck it. You're too drugged-up to tell me. But don't worry, love. I'll find out later."

His hot breath rolled across my neck and I blacked out.

John's POV

Nora had left me stunned. I'd hung around with her more than a few times, thanks to George being such close friends with her. She was a quiet girl, sort of bookish, but lovely. She had long, brown wavy hair that curled a little in some spots. Her dark eyes seemed to change color every now and then, sometimes green, sometimes grey. Her nose crinkled when she smiled, like a mischevious toddler. I thought she was beautiful, but I also thought she was off limits. I'd witnessed several blokes ask her out over the past year and each time she'd turn crimson and stammer out a polite rejection while looking away. She was timid; that much was clear. I didn't want to scare her away so I attempted to get to know her before taking such a big leap. Obviously she'd been too afraid to even consider being my friend. She replied with polite but to-the-point answers whenever I tried to conjure up some sort of conversation. So I left it at that.

She looked so out of place at that party, though. I honestly felt concerned about her and I'd offered to help, even throwing out a hint with the whole 'boyfriend' thing. But she'd just up and left. Her swaying hips mesmerized me as I watched her go back in the house. My eyes stayed glued to the door for awhile as I stared into space, fantasizing about things that would turn my aunt's face red. Screeching girls being chased by randy boys, the heavy smell of alcohol, cigarettes, pot and sweat, and the unmistakable voice of my long time hero, Buddy Holly greeted me as I walked into the party I'd left not 15 minutes earlier.

_"...the way you dance and hold me tight,_

_The way you kiss and say goodni-hi-hight,_

_Rave on, it's a crazy feeling and I know it's got me reelin'_

_When you say 'I love you'_

_Rave on..."_

Being nearly 6 feet tall gave me an advantage as my eyes swept the crowd for the familiar face of Nora. Despite my vantage point, I couldn't find her. Figuring upstairs would be my best bet, I trudged down a hallway packed with sweaty kids groping each other and bounded up toward the next level of the house. The landing at the top provided me with a view of 4 doors. One was open just a crack. I pushed it and walked through the doorway to find some blonde kid I vaguely recognized on top of Nora. She was face down on the bed with her eyes closed. She looked like she was sleeping. All while that bastard rode her like a fucking horse, seemingly unaware of my presence.

"And what the fuck do you think you're doing?" I bellowed, my nostrils flaring as I clenched my fists.

He looked up in surprise and stopped thrusting for a minute. "Why does it matter, Lennon?"

I lied, feeling oddly satisfied with myself. "She's my girl. That's why, you fucking prick. Now get off her before I rip your fuckin' head off."

His eyes widened and he rolled off the bed, quickly zipping up his pants and holding his hands up as he stepped toward me. "I don't fuckin' think so," he said through gritted teeth, "I think if she was your girl you wouldn't let her wander off and fuck me like the whore she is."

"Oh yeah, 'cause she was fucking you _so hard _when I walked in, right?" I laughed sarcastically, motioning toward her unmoving body. "If you don't leave this room within the next 10 seconds, I'll break your fuckin' jaw and tell everyone you raped her."

"Bloody wanker," he spat before sprinting out the door.

I exhaled in relief and walked over to Nora to survey the damage. Her panties were lying on the floor, ripped apart and she had a few minor bruises on the backs of her thighs. I pulled her dress down and gathered her into my arms, receiving hazy looks from people too drunk to care as I walked out of the pulsating house.


	2. Chapter 2

Nora's POV

Consciousness took hold of me, a pounding headache and soreness between my legs accompanying it. The previous night's events were nothing but a colorful, dizzying blur that made my head spin like a kaleidoscope. I opened my eyes to a room completely foreign to me. A thin beam of sunlight peeked through the half-drawn curtains, making a slanted line on the white bedclothes that covered my body. A quick glance around the room revealed a desk in the far right corner by another window, stacks of notebooks, loose papers and paperbacks littered the surface along with pencils, pens, and paintbrushes. Even more loose papers jutted out from a closed drawer.

The closet door stood ajar, random articles of clothing spilling out. Right next to it was a dresser, equally as dishelved and cluttered as the closet and desk. Directly to my right, a bedside table contained a clock, Buddy Holly-style glasses, a half-full glass of water, guitar picks and a framed picture of a smiling woman with fiery red hair, her arm around... _John? Was I in John Lennon's house? _Panic rushed through me and I pushed the fluffy blanket back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. All that sudden movement hadn't been good because I was attacked by a nasty head rush and had to stop for a moment to recover as my vision turned spotty and black and full of stars. A new revelation washed over me as I looked down at my lap. My clothes were gone. I was wearing a grey pullover several sizes too big that smelled of cinnamon and cigarettes and _man. _It sounds cheesy but I really don't know how else to describe the other scent, it was simply one you wouldn't find on any woman.

I was sniffing at the sweater when a voice made me spin around, slightly embarrassed. "Oh, you're up. You feeling okay, love?"

"John? Is this your house? I- why am I here?" I completely ignored his question and bombarded him with my own. I was scared.

"You don't remem- oh, of course you wouldn't," he said, putting a hand to his face and sighing.

He sat across from me on the bed, prompting me to scoot away anxiously. "I don't bite. I promise."

I stared him down, staying silent.

"Okay. I guess I'd better start from the beginning. We'll work our way toward the end," he started, clasping his hands together and grimacing, "Do you remember anything from last night?"

Fragments scattered themselves around my head, falling into their chronological positions like a sort of timeline. "George and I went to that party. It was... God, whose party was it? We split up about a half hour after we got there. I don't remember how long I'd been there before I really started freaking out. But I couldn't find George so I went outside and I... found you. Then I went back inside and looked for George again. After that... it's... I don't know what happened after that..."

I closed my eyes, a memory poking at the back of my mind, begging to be released. My eyes flew open and I cut John off from whatever he was about to say. "Justin! Justin Smith was there! He- he led me to a bedroom because I was... drunk, I think. No, no I wasn't drunk... I only had 2 beers..."

John jumped in before I could further voice my wandering thoughts. "You're right, you weren't drunk. You were drugged. Someone slipped something into your drink, it seems. Unless it was voluntary?"

I shook my head. He shot me a sympathetic look. "That's what I thought. Erm... Nora... Justin... took advantage of you while you were passed out."

"What? Are you saying he raped me or something?" I laughed, attempting to make a joke out of it, even though it came out as more of a half-sob.

John nodded solemnly. "I told him I'd break his jaw if he didn't leave. He left, but I'll still do it anyway."

I took in a bunch of shallow, wheezing breaths as tears built up behind my eyes and I drew my knees into my chest. It all made sense now. The unfamiliar soreness _down there_, my missing clothes, waking up in John's bed. Wait- "Did I sleep with you?"

John looked repulsed by my words. "_No_. You were passed out and bleeding; I'm not _that_ heartless, Nora."

"Bleeding?"

"Yeah. That son of a bitch tore you up, love." John's gaze was focused on the space I'd occupied all night.

I looked down at the white sheets spotted with blood, and blushed. "I'm sorry."

His eyes flicked back to mine. "It's not your fault. I'll bleach 'em."

I wanted to change the subject. Luckily I still had cause to. "Tell me everything that happened last night."

"Everything?"

"Everything," I echoed.

John sighed and started in at the part where he'd walked in on Justin abusing me. Apparently he took me back here, stripping me of my blood-stained dress and throwing it into the wash. He loaned his sweater to me and made me drink a bunch of water. The rest of the night, he slept downstairs on the couch while I took his bed. I thanked him for being so hospitable and offered to take him out for breakfast.

"No, no, love. That won't be necessary. You need to relax. And we'll have to call your parents; I'm sure they're worried sick about you."

I smiled weakly. "Nah, it's alright. I'll walk home as soon as my clothes are dry."

"I'll drive you."

"It's fine, John. Really. But thank you."

"You think I'm letting you walk home in a short little dress all torn up and emotionally fragile? You know how bad the crime rate is here, and besides, I'd feel like a right tosser if I let you walk back."

"Alright," I relented.

It wasn't the fact that I was afraid of anything, I just felt like a free loader. I felt as though I were taking advantage of this weird, caring side of him I'd never seen or heard of before. To say I felt guilty would be an understatement, though I'm not entirely sure why I felt that way. What was there to be guilty of? Nothing.

John's POV

"Well, here we are," I said, trying to mask the disappointment in my tone.

I was reluctant to let her go, not because I thought something bad would happen, but because I wanted just to _be _around her. She was marvelous. Shy and soft-spoken, but incredibly knowledgeable and well-read. She was the first girl I could hold an intelligent conversation with, making me adore her even more than I thought was possible.

She looked out the window, staring at the stately house that she called home. I touched her hand tentatively. "If you need anything, just call me, alright?"

Nora turned around, dazzling me with a sweet smile. "Of course. Thank you, John."

"Anytime at all," I replied, my heart nearly melting at her sincere, gentle disposition.

An unexpected kiss was planted on my cheek and before I knew it she was running up the front steps of her house and disappearing behind the door. A warm feeling rose into my chest and I shook my head, trying to make sense of my emotions. I'd never felt this way about a girl. God, what had I gotten myself into?


	3. Chapter 3

Nora's POV

I came home to silence, as usual. My dad had died in WWII when I was six months old. Since then, mom had tried her best to fend for the both of us. She did a pretty bang-on job, considering how working women weren't so easily accepted back in the 40's. And it was morbidly funny, in a way. Mom was an army surgeon and she'd been stationed in Vietnam for the past month. It didn't make sense to me why she'd join the army after Dad's death but then again, a lot of things she did never quite matched in my mind. It was terrifying, to lose one parent to a war and have the other facing the exact same risks. I never knew when I'd hear from her, or if one day her letters would simply cease.

Mom hadn't always been in the army, though. She was a cardiac surgeon up until just before she left. Since heart surgeons were so rare to come by in England, she was chosen out of a handful of others in the same field to help out on the battlefields in the jungles of Asia. The day she left, I literally got down on my knees and begged her not to go. She gave me a tight smile and told me it was for the best. Mother never was sappy, unlike me. She was always practical, never showing too much. In fact, I recall seeing her cry only once in my entire life. I was ten at the time, wandering to the kitchen for a cup of water after a nightmare. Her bedroom door was slightly open and she sat on her bed, crying. Her tears made little _splat _noises as they hit the glossy surface of the photo she held between her trembling fingers. The faint light of her bedside lamp threw her bent shadow across the far wall and it reminded me of Quasimodo from _Notre-Dame de Paris_, a book by Victor Hugo that I'd read quite recently. I remember backing away from the alien sight, so stunned that I forgot all about my nightmare and water and went back to sleep. The memory hadn't crossed my mind in years.

We were both painfully aware of the fact that it was illegal of me to be living on my own, so Mom hired a maid to clean every few days. Technically, I still lived alone, but the law required someone over the age of 18 to supervise me, and it's not like government officials were coming to check up on me every day. None of our relatives had spoken a word to Mom since Dad died; they didn't exactly approve of her field of work. So having any family look after me was definitely out of the question. I was stuck living on my own, taking care of myself. Which I was good at. Sometimes it was nice to not have anyone looking after you; sometimes I just wished for someone to yell at me for staying out too late.

John's offer was still fresh in my mind as I bounded up the stairs to my bathroom. He said I could call whenever I wanted, and he'd be there right away. A part of me was a little suspicious, though. I wasn't stupid; I knew John liked to sleep around and I sure as hell wasn't oblivious to the fact that maybe his uncharacteristic kindness was a facade. A ploy to get me back into his bed. For all I knew, he could've taken a turn on me the previous night. But that lonely spot in me was aching for someone to share my feelings with. And John was the perfect candidate. Though George was my best friend, I couldn't talk to him the way I'd talked to John that morning. The connection between us was... different.

George. A million thoughts as to what could have happened to him at the party raced through my mind and I practically flew into my bedroom, dialing his number frantically.

He picked up after three rings. "Hello?"

"George, it's me. Look, I'm really sorry about ditching you last night. Someone drugged me and-"

"I know." His voice was quiet. "I should apologize, Nora. I let you out of my sight..."

"It's not your fault. But... how did you know?"

"Practically everyone knows, love. It spread like wildfire after people saw John carrying you out. No one knows the specifics, exactly, but guesses are being made and it's a new story every time. Some say you passed out and John took you home. Others claim to have seen you shaggin' him upstairs. I don't know what the truth is and I don't know if you want to tell me...?"

I sighed. "Maybe later. I don't feel so hot right about now. I'll ring you tonight, okay?"

"Sure. But Nora..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay? 'Cause a lot of rumors have been flying that Justin Smith did something to you."

I choked back tears and tried to keep my voice steady. "I'm fine. Honestly. I'll talk to you later, Geo."

His voice seemed reluctant. "Alright. Bye, Nora."

I hung up the phone and steeled myself, taking in a sharp breath as I imagined what my mother would do. God, my mom! What would I tell her? Would I tell her anything at all? No. I'd keep it a secret. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I stalked to the bathroom, pretending to be my mom as I ran a hot shower and tossed my dress to the floor. It was spotless but I'd never wear it again; the memories (or rather, lack of) associated with it were forever etched into my mind. It was stupid of me, but I decided that it was no great loss anyway, seeing as it wasn't my favorite dress.

By the time I was clean, I still felt dirty. Lotion was rubbed all over my body and I examined myself in the mirror. My skin was radiant and I looked new and shiny, save for a sprinkle of purple bruises on my thighs, yet my mental state didn't reflect my physical one at all. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry for eternity. I was lonely and afraid and oddly longing for someone to hold me. My dress was still in a rumpled heap on the bathroom tiles as I fled to my bedroom.

John's POV

Nora called me a little over an hour after I'd dropped her off. Her voice was shaky and ambivalent, almost apologetic. She asked me to come over and hung up straight after. Of course I dropped everything I was doing (which really wasn't much) and hurried to her house. Nothing could have shocked me more than her appearance at that moment; I'd never really _seen _Nora before that day. She stood there, eyes red-rimmed while she sniffled, tear tracks marking her cheeks.

I assessed her, taking in the tiny bare feet, the knobby knees and the little pink nightdress covered mostly by a cardigan that nearly swallowed her. Her usually wavy hair had been transformed into a lion's mane, rampant curls fighting for space. Her nose had a red tint to it.

I smiled in adoration. "You remind me of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

Nora's eyes widened and an expression of hurt crossed over her face before it turned into a wide grin that nearly melted me into a puddle at her feet. She giggled, covering her face self-consciously with her long, dainty hands. I stepped over the threshold and looked around as she closed the door behind me. There was no sign of life other than the two of us, and I'd never felt so out of place before. Everything seemed a little too... _quiet. _Apparently Nora sensed my uneasiness.

"My parents aren't here, if that's what you're looking for. I don't live with them."

I turned around to face her. "Where are they, then?"

"Well, my dad's dead," she widened her eyes, "and, my mom's in Vietnam right now... she could be dead, too. I don't know anymore, really."

"I'm sorry. I get it, though. My dad's out there _somewhere _and mum died last year... but, what do you mean? Why's your mum over there?"

She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "It's her job. And I'm sorry about your parents."

I attempted a half-smile as an awkward silence fell between us. "So... you called me over here because...?"

"Oh- um... it's stupid, really," she laughed, looking at the floor as her face turned pink.

"Tell me."

She sighed, all traces of previous playfulness being replaced by a look of utter exhaustion as she ran a hand through her hair. "I'm lonely and I want someone to talk to and it's stupid. I'm stupid. You can leave if you want."

As the words left her mouth, she put her hands up to her face and wiped at a few leaked tears. I shook my head and pulled her into a hug. "You're not stupid. You're neglected and I can see why you'd want company. I'll stay with you for as long as you like."

"Really?"

"Really."

Silence as she contemplated my words; then a muffled question. "How do I know you're not gonna rape me?"

"Wouldn't I have done it already?"

"I guess."

We simultaneously pulled back from each other and I gave Nora a smirk, which she returned with a watery smile. "Wanna make pancakes?"

When I nodded she grabbed my hand, sending tingles through my veins, and led me off to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Third Party POV

It was an odd sight to behold; John Lennon, the posterboy for adolescent rebellion launching handfuls of flour at a frizzy-haired girl clad only in a pink nightdress and the kind of sweater your grandmother would wear, all whilst actually looking maybe a little teensy bit... _innocent? _Bah! That John Lennon was nothing but trouble. A Teddy Boy, he was. But, wait. The girl he chased around the magnificent kitchen didn't look frightened. In fact, she looked just the opposite.

"I'll get you, John Lennon! If it's the last thing I do!" she said, shaking her fist while a devilish gleam flashed through her brilliant green eyes.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" he teased, standing directly across from her with yet another good-sized handful of flour with the scent of burnt pancakes and sticky syrup permeating the warm air.

Nora raised a powdery eyebrow, lifting her pink lips into a subtle smirk. "Both."

And with that, she closed the distance between their bodies, attacking him with everything she had. Clouds of flour meandered listlessly in the air, a thick silence hanging over the two. Nora was sprawled on top of him as he lay, defeated, on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. John stared into her eyes. Eyes that reminded the aforementioned boy of the way the sun filtered through veiny leaves on a summer's day, giving them an emerald-like quality that seemed to radiate light. Thoughts of the girl sprinted through his head; the lighter tones in her dark hair that seemed to him like spun gold; the faded beauty mark in the middle of her forehead that you'd never notice unless you were approximately 2 inches from her face, the way he was at that moment; the parted lips that revealed her unusually sharp canines; the way her soft breasts felt against his chest and the warm pressure that came with her body pressed against his. But the one thing about her that really stopped time for him was the way she was looking at him- looking _into _him.

And then it was gone. In the blink of an eye. "I'm sorry."

She was on her feet and offering her hand to him in record time, cheeks flaming with a hidden desire.

John's POV

"Don't worry about it," I reassured her, taking her hand and standing. I loomed a good 6 inches above her.

Nora blushed even deeper (if that was possible). "Did I hurt you, or-?"

"No, no. I don't think you could if you tried, love."

She made a face and turned around, surveying the extensive mess we created. "It looks like a hurricane just tore through my kitchen," she sighed. "This'll take hours to clean up."

"I guess we'd better get started then, eh?"

She turned to me with wide eyes. "John, you don't have to."

"It's sort of my responsibility, though. Don't you think? I mean," I glanced at my watch with a smile, "I don't exactly have anywhere I need to be and I'd feel awful if I left you here to clean all by yourself."

Nora flashed me a grin that turned my insides to jelly. "Well then I guess you can start with the floor while I do the counters."

"Deal."

An hour later, Nora's kitchen was spotless and we both looked as though we'd been run through the mill. We brushed each other off, but by the end of it, neither of us looked any different.

"Well... you're still dirty and I'm not letting you trek through my house like that. And I'm sure I look just the same. So we'll shower."

I raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. "So soon? We hardly know each other, love. And never in a million years would I have thought you were one of _those _girls."

The color in her cheeks that had died down for a grand total of five minutes was back. "What? John, no! _No! _I didn't mean it like that. I- we'll shower _separately."_

"I'm only teasing, Nora," I laughed, poking her nose.

Another heartbreaking smile spread across her features and she beckoned for me to follow her as she descended up the stairs. Just the way her hips swung back and forth like a pendulum and how the muscles in her legs flexed as she walked made me giddy. Her movements were unsure and a tad bit clumsy, but that only made her all the more endearing to me. My thoughts were enveloped by her whole being, entrancing me into a state of near-oblivion. So when I suddenly found myself in a large bathroom with steam and the tell-tale sound of running water pouring from the shower, I had no recollection of the journey there.

Nora was in the shower and I took it as an opportunity to look around her room. Bottles of nail polish, makeup brushes, compacts, tubes of lipstick, and other things I couldn't quite identify were scattered across the surface of a black dressing table. It was the epitome of all things girl. Dresses, shirts and various coats hung in the neat closet. Over a desk hung a red parasol with tiny white cherry blossoms painted on it. A black book practically gravited toward me. I flopped down onto Nora's fluffy black bedcovers and thumbed through pages and pages of incredible pencil drawings. Most of them were of people. But one in particular stuck out like a sore thumb. It was me.

"What are you doing?"

I looked up to find Nora gawking at me from the doorway, wrapped in a navy blue towel with her dark hair dripping onto the carpet. I glanced down at the portrait of myself again. "You're very talented, Nora."

She padded over and gently slipped the book from between my fingers, speaking timidly. "Thank you."

"I draw sometimes, too. Though my drawings aren't nearly as spectacular as yours."

She merely smiled tightly and returned the book to its original place. I thought I blew it for sure. Nora plucked yet another nightdress and impossibly large jumper from her closet and dug through a drawer, extracting what had to have been underwear. She disappeared through the door and returned minutes later with her hair in a lopsided bun, fully dressed. I patted the spot next to me and she fell back, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Nora's POV

John and I talked for hours. It was so easy, like no one else existed, like nothing mattered but what he had to say. My troubles were forgotten and it was just the two of us. I only realized how long we'd been lying on my bed, exchanging opinions, ideas, dreams when he frowned at his watch. "It's nearly ten. I should go..."

"No, don't."

Silence. "Can I kiss you?"

He caught me off guard. "I... yeah."

Suddenly his lips were all over mine, pushing and sucking and biting ever-so-gently while his hands pulled me close. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned, making me pull away in embarrassment. He gave me this look of total longing with half-lidded eyes that I can't properly explain, ignoring my red face and drawing me back in for another kiss filled with moans from him as well as myself. Soon, I was running my hands over John's chest as he slid his fingers under my nightdress, creeping up my inner thighs. I broke our kiss and shoved his hands away, panting.

"I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have-" he said, sitting up and retreating his hands.

I shook my head. "No- whatever. It's okay. I'm just- I'm still a bit... shocked over last night."

"I understand. We'll take it slow. Whatever you want, sweetheart. I won't push you."

Did he just call me 'sweetheart'? I felt my heart break in two as I took in the angelic sight before me that was John Lennon. His hair was rumpled and his pants were undone; his pale skin was covered in goosebumps. A peek at myself revealed my own set of goosebumps to match his, one strap of my lilac-colored nightgown hanging limply off my shoulder, nearly exposing my chest. The thought of how close we'd been to having sex stunned me. But that was consumed by another thought that brought tears to my eyes. I was no longer a virgin. My purity had been taken forcefully from me and the dream of sharing my first time with someone I loved had been burned to ashes. I began to cry.

Ugly sobs racked my body and the fact that John was there didn't phase me in the least. I felt alone. "God... Nora, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Come on, tell me what's wrong."

I shook my head and hiccupped, struggling to get the words out. "N-no... it's not-" I burst into fresh hysterics.

Then tried again. "John! He took it! He fucking _took it!"_

John's hands were now clamped around my wrists, rubbing softly in an attempt to calm me."Who took what?"

"_He took it_,_"_ I repeated, pointing to the spot between my legs.

His eyes wandered down, registering with surprise. He didn't say a word. What were you supposed to say something like that? It appeared as though his thoughts echoed mine because he simply drew me into his arms and let me sob all over his beautiful chest.

George. The thought popped into my head and I ripped myself away from a thoroughly confused John, rubbing at my wet eyes and dialing George's number. He picked up on the first ring and I told him I couldn't talk; I had company over. He sounded sleepy and not in the least bit worried that I didn't feel like conversing. Poor guy, I probably woke him up. I promised to call the next day and hung up. John waited patiently for me to end my call, running his fingers up my sides comfortingly. An iron grip was placed around my hips the moment the reciever touched the cradle, sending me back to into his warm chest.

I yawned as he placed a kiss on my head, eliciting an amused chuckle from him. "Tired, are we?"

I nodded sleepily. "Will you sing me to sleep?"

"Sing you to sleep?"

"Yeah. You have a nice voice, Johnny. I never wanted to tell you, though; I've always been afraid of you."

He clucked his tongue. "Why's that?"

"I don't know. You're generally just," I paused for another yawn, "very intimidating."

He considered my words for a moment. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything."

I climbed off of his lap and switched the light off, leaving my room in total darkness. Once I'd gotten myself situated beneath the blankets and into John's secure hold, I began to feel warm and distant. John's soft voice flowed into my dreamy haze.


	5. Chapter 5

John's POV

Nora's room was washed in a hazy blue from the sunless dawn that was rapidly spreading outside in the cool October air. Calm, drawn-out breaths huffed across my bare skin as Nora slept through the morning. I brushed her hair back from her face, relishing its silky yet wild texture. Her hair was naturally curly. What else did I not know about her? A dozen different fantasies danced through my head as I absently traced the soft outline of her nose; her slightly-chapped lips; the thick lashes that reminded me of the bristles on a Kolinsky sable-hair brush. She was like Snow White. _The fairest of them all. _No phrase could ever ring truer than that. Nora was incredibly gorgeous; inside and out. Maybe it was a little cliché, but I was simply stating the obvious.

Neitzsche, rock 'n' roll, Thelema, scientific laws, art, philosophy, history, literature, Albrecht Dürer; it didn't matter which subject I brought up in the hopes of winning her over with my intelligence, she always ended up teaching me something I hadn't previously known. She was remarkable and I knew I was already head over heels in love, even though I'd only gotten to know her less than twenty-four hours earlier. Why hadn't I ever asked her more questions? Why had I given up so easily? Nora Page was indescribable and for that reason I couldn't stop beating myself up; she'd been right in front of me all this time and I'd simply looked through her pretty little face, writing her off as another shy girl too shook up to be any fun. I was so wrong.

Tiny bumps ran along her frigid arms, eliciting a slight shiver as she moved herself closer to me. Suddenly, she shot up from my arms, backing into a wall with her eyes wide as saucers. "God!" she screeched, then paused, the expression of utter terror fading to a crooked smile. "I'm sorry, you just - you scared me. I forgot you were here... I'm not exactly accustomed to waking up with someone else in my house, let alone my bed."

My mouth dropped open a little. "Oh... do you want me to leave...?"

"_No - _I mean, no. No, don't. Please stay. Unless you want to go."

I shook my head. "I don't."

Nora smiled down at her lap, playing with the flimsy material of her nightgown. I shivered at the cold air drifting through the open window and couldn't help but stare at her braless chest. "Aren't you cold in that?"

"Aren't you cold in _that?" _she replied without a hitch, gesturing to my bare abdomen.

I smirked. "Cheeky. And so early in the morning, too. I like you."

A bashful smile graced her lips and she tilted her head to the side, sending her curls tumbling down over one bony shoulder. "I like you, too."

"You should probably come over here. I mean, it's cold and the only way to stay warm is through body heat. It's only practical."

"Of course." She smiled slyly and scooted back to her original place, fitting into my arms like a puzzle piece.

"Hmm, maybe we should kiss," I hummed, twirling one of her curls around my finger.

She pecked my lips quickly, burying her face into my neck before I could catch her mouth for a better kiss. "Oh, I see how it is; you're a little tease."

"Am not," came her muffled reply, each word tickling at my skin.

We stayed in silence for awhile, Nora's cold fingers drawing loops and figures along my back while I stroked her incredibly long hair. "Why's your hair never like this?"

"I don't know... when I was younger, boys would play with my hair and it sort of... scared me, in a way. So I guess that's it; I don't want the attention. I'd rather blend in."

"Well I think your hair's rather beautiful. Just perfect," I mused.

Nora's POV

John went home a little before noon, promising to return later. I couldn't believe it - I, a wallflower, managed to spark the interest of the boy nearly every girl in Liverpool lusted after. Nobody would've ever pegged me as a romantic. My plain appearance, slouched posture, averted gaze and soft voice practically _oozed _bookishness. I'd heard enough stories about girls who flaunted their assets and ended up getting roughed up over the years to make me want to live in a shell. Unfortunately, I'd found out firsthandedly that it wasn't that simple; it didn't matter how you presented yourself - you could still get raped. And because no one could've ever suspected me to maybe have, oh I don't know, _emotions, _they would have been so surprised to glance into my head. To see how overwhelmed I was by John's interest in me.

After John left, the full weight of being utterly and completely alone engulfed me yet again. I called George over to remedy the situation. He arrived within minutes, the hollow ring of the doorbell echoing around my empty house. It made me uncomfortable, to think that if anything happened to me, no one would know for days - long story short, I rushed to the door and flung it open so I wouldn't have to hear the awful sound of the bell more than once. George stood on my front step, carefully smoothing a comb over his greased-back hair for what I could only imagine must've been the millionth time that day. He put the comb away and wiped his hands on his jeans, smiling that crooked smile I'd come to love so much.

"How goes it, Einstein?" The first time George and I met, he immediately dubbed me 'Einstein' on account of how wild my hair was. I learned how to tame my curls, but the name stuck like glue; which was fine, so long as George was the only one calling me that.

"Top notch, Geo. Just _peachy."_

He clucked his tongue. "Nora, Nora, Nora. Where are your manners?"

"Oh, pardon me. _Do _come in, please," I replied sarcastically, bowing as I tried to hold back a grin.

"Much better. Though I expect more from you." George stuck his nose up, sauntering in grandiosely.

I sighed happily, glad to finally be able to spill the beans to my best friend. With John it was different; temporary. At the end of the day, we were still strangers and he still had his own obligations. I didn't know how things were going to work out between us or if they would at all. On the other hand, George had always been there, and always would be. It was one of those relationships - where you just _know _nothing will ever ruin your connection. Hell, we could stop talking for five years, meet up again, and pick up exactly where we left off, as if we'd never been separated. Maybe our situation was slightly unusual compared to that of most other people our age, seeing as how the laws of teenhood made it perfectly clear that no girl and boy could be friends without some sort of romantic link. But adults seemed to share these thoughts as well. Whenever George and I would go to a movie or dinner, the older people would wink and give us knowing looks. Thankfully, we both knew our places in our relationship and wanted them to remain constant. To say we couldn't have been more than friends is questionable. We simply never explored the possibilities.

George sat on the kitchen counter, polishing off a sizeable apple. "Alright, Nora. Tell me everything and don't leave anything out, 'cause you know I'll find out eventually."

I crossed my arms and tilted my head, motioning for him to follow me as I descended the staircase to my bedroom. I knew perfectly well that there was no point to this - there weren't any people (parents) who could eavesdrop - but I felt more comfortable talking in my own room. Force of habit, I guess. I mean, we'd had to resort to talking under my blanket in the dead of night about a whole range of topics (some taboo); that is, after my mom got over the fact that my best friend wasn't a girl and that she could trust George with my life. Up to my own corner of the house we went.

The two of us laid under my blanket, shoulder to shoulder. I folded my arms across my stomach and George's hand twitched at my side. It was how we'd always had our deepest conversations. The only differences were that my mom had always been somewhere close by and darkness would be invading every inch of the world outside. And suddenly, I felt nauseated by what I was about to tell him. I grabbed his hand, taking comfort in his inviting warmth, his mere presence.

"I lost you about a half-hour into the party and started looking for you. Two drinks and God knows how many hours later, I'm being led upstairs..."


	6. Chapter 6

George's POV

She told me everything. And I mean_ everything. _Poor girl. I felt awful but I didn't know what to do. What do you do when your best friend's been raped? Go after the guy and snap his neck? I wanted to do it, but truth be told, I was a little on the meek side. So I did the only thing I could think of; I hugged her and told her it was okay, that I was sorry for leaving her alone, and that I'd be there for her if she needed me. Which was the truth, it just didn't feel like enough.

Once we'd gotten over the apologies and crying, I started in on the one part of the story I still wasn't totally clear about. "So what exactly happened between you and John?"

I knew he'd been the one to rescue Nora and take her home, but that was it. She hadn't said much else, mostly due to the fact that she'd been too shook up to go into detail about anything else that happened after the incident with Justin. And I was dying to know. Part of me was suspicious and a little pissed off. It didn't take a genius to know how John treated girls. What if he'd taken her back to his house and managed to slip her a quick one while she was still passed out? Or maybe she knew something but didn't want to tell me. Maybe she did a few things she wasn't too proud of. Maybe -

"Nothing, really. He took me back to his house and took care of me," I knew there was something else, though, because her face turned a light shade of pink, "you know. Gave me water and washed my dress and let me borrow one of his shirts. He even let me sleep in his bed."

"He _what?!_ Nora -" I knew it. I fucking knew it!

"No, no, no. Oh, no, George! I didn't sleep with him. He slept on the couch while I took his bed. He was a real sweetheart... and he drove me home the next morning."

I narrowed my eyes. "Nothing else?"

"No... George, what are you, my mother?"

"I might as well be," I muttered. Her face fell and I immediately regretted my words. "I'm sorry, Nora. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine. I understand, Geo. You're just looking out for me. And I appreciate it, I really do."

A tense silence spread out between us like fog. I cleared my throat. "I'm worried about you. I know how John is and the way you describe him... it's like you're talking about a different person."

She sighed and tugged at her black stockings. "I know. I had a hard time believing it, too. But he's honestly one of the... nicest people I know..."

"Alright. If you know what you're doing..."

"I do. Trust me, George."

...

Nora's POV

George ended up comforting me and I ended up feeling stupid. By the time I'd let out every teardrop available, I was a sticky mess of hair, tears, and snot. It was not in the least bit pretty. Though I didn't need to be pretty around George. He knew it, too. Because when I drew back from him, blubbering about how gross and needy I was, he simply crushed me in another hug and sang to me while rocking back and forth gently.

"I love you, Georgie," I sniffled, drying my eyes on his white t-shirt.

"I love you too, Nora."

We both knew what kind of love it was. The love I'd been yearning for since my mother left. It had been here all along, hiding back in the shadows. And now that it was out in the open, I couldn't have been happier.

John's POV

Seven o'clock rolled around and I was back on Nora's front step, as promised. As she opened the door, I couldn't help but wonder what she'd done all day. I constantly found myself thinking about her. I couldn't get her out of my mind. Now that she was standing before me, I realized just how much I'd been anticipating this exact moment.

"Ready to go?" I asked.

She wore a navy blue dress with a short, flowy skirt that reached about mid-thigh, a beige cardigan, black stockings, and her customary black tennis shoes. Her hair hadn't been uncurled or whatever you call it, and it looked perfect. Her cheeks were rosy and I could see the beginning of a red tinge on her nose from the cold air.

Nora nodded and I watched as a shiver ran through her body. She locked the door and gazed up at me. I grabbed her hand and saw her blushing at the ground out of the corner of my eye.

...

I wasn't sure where our relationship stood or what Nora liked to do, so I took her out dancing. Dinner was too formal, a movie seemed like an amature move. Maybe she was a little too young to be at a club, but I figured I'd be able to get her in without a hitch. I parked a few blocks from the club.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see, you'll see. Just be patient."

Her hand was ice cold, despite the fact that I'd been gripping it since we started walking. Another glance at her shuddering frame and I stopped, peeling my leather jacket off and wrapping her in it. She looked at me quizzically and shook her head.

"John, no. You don't have to do that. You'll catch a cold!" Nora protested, trying to hand the jacket back.

"Better me than you," I replied, placing it on her again and slinging my arm around her shoulders.

She huffed in frustration but humored me as we continued walking. Two Teddys I recognized approached us; Robbie and James. "Hey, Johnny! Got yerself a pretty little piece of arse, huh? Gonna hit that later?"

"Fuck off, Robbie!" I tightened my hold on Nora and pushed her along.

They whistled and disappeared into the night with a final, "Atta boy!"

"Fucking wankers..." I muttered.

Nora giggled. "I've never gotten so much attention in one night."

"You don't want their attention, Nora. Trust me."

She stayed silent and put an arm around my waist as we turned a corner. Up ahead, the unmistakable sound Rory Storm and the Hurricanes seeped from the open doors of the club. People milled about outside, smoking, drinking, talking. We were nearly outside the doors when I glanced down at Nora. She seemed tense but determined. I could tell she'd never been to a real club before, and I rubbed her arm reassuringly.

"John, are you sure I'm allowed here? I mean, I'm only sixteen... "

"Nah, don't worry, love. You're okay, right?"

She nodded and smiled apprehensively. No one gave us a second glance as we entered the building. Not that they would; nobody really cared and I'm sure at least a quarter of the population in there was underage. Music blared and people jostled around, drinks sloshing onto the floor and glasses clinking as their sweaty bodies created a humid atmosphere. My arm moved from Nora's shoulders to her waist and I crushed her to my side, pushing through the inebriated crowd to an open booth. I nearly shoved her onto the red vinyl. She had the sleeves of my jacket tugged down over her hands and her knuckles stood out white against the black tabletop as her wide-eyed stare took in the commotion surrounding us.

I leaned toward her and yelled over the music. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She caught me staring and relaxed her posture, nodding with a tight smile that didn't convince me. "If you want to leave, it's fine. Just tell me."

"I'll be fine once you've gotten me drunk." She gave me a squinty-eyed smile and nudged my arm. "Go on, then. Go get me something to drink, Johnny."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish as I struggled to find words. Finally, I just shrugged. "Don't move."

Nora raised an eyebrow and I gave her one last look before setting off to the bar. I decided to start off slow with a simple beer for each of us. When I returned, she eyed me skeptically and took a swig of the drink. She finished before me and patted my knee before standing and shuffling out of the booth.

I grabbed her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Refill," she mouthed and shook off my grasp before I had a chance to protest.

She disappeared into the mob of bodies and I grew anxious. The chances of her getting raped again were through the roof in this place, especially since she was alone and possibly a little tipsy. Just as I was about to go after her, she reappeared with a glass nearly empty of green liquid. It could only be one thing: absinthe. To say I was pissed off was an understatement.

"Nora, what the fuck are you doing? Do you know what that is?"

She downed the rest of the liquid and staggered over, nearly dropping the glass before she fell onto my lap. "Of course I do, silly. It's _la fée verte_..." she whispered, tickling my ear with her lips.

I'll admit, I found it extremely hard not to ravish her with kisses, but I abstained. "Nora, you're drunk. Where did you get the absinthe?"

"Oh, just some guy... bought me a drink and - and Johnny, he said I was pretty. Am I pretty, John?"

"You're gorgeous, love. But Nora, where is this guy?"

She shifted herself so that her legs were placed on either side of me as she twirled my hair between her fingers. "I dunno... he was really nice, though. Your hair is so soft." Her dress was riding further up her thighs. "Do you really mean it? Do you think I'm gorgeous?"

It took every ounce of self-control for me to pull her dress down and gently push her off my lap. "Yes. I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She giggled and imitated my accent. "And I think you're quite handsome."

A smile graced my lips and I was about to respond when I was rudely cut off by a deep voice. "Aye, there you are, girly. But why're you with Lennon?"

It was Charlie Jones. He was basically my rival and belonged to a gang from the south side of Allerton. I groaned internally and wondered why, of all the people in this club, Charlie had to choose Nora. "John, John, that's the guy! Hello!"

I kept her pinned to me and eyed my arch nemesis. "She's my girl, Charlie. So don't even think about touchin' her with your greasy hands."

"You sure she belongs to you, Lennon? Come 'ere, sweetheart. You wanna dance?" He kept his eyes on me the whole time.

Nora pushed away my hands and unsteadily rose to her feet, both my and Charlie's arms shooting out, ready to catch her if she took a plunge. "I'd _love _to. I'll be right back, Johnny," she said, then gasped, her eyes lighting up. "Unless you wanna come, too! Come on, Johnny, let's go go go."

Charlie shook his head and snaked his arm around her waist. "Mmm, no, love. Just you and me."

"Oh... okay. I'll see you in a bit," she slurred, still oblivious as to what exactly was going on.

"Charlie," I growled.

"Yes?"

The smug bastard. "Charlie, give her back."

He raised his eyebrows and turned to Nora, who had her eyes closed as she swayed, smiling at nothing in particular. "Do you want to go back with Lennon or would you like to come dance with me, love?"

"Just one dance," Nora reasoned, her dazed voice barely audible.

"Just one dance," Charlie repeated, smirking at me. "You're such a lovely little thing, mm? What's your name?"

"Nora," she replied enthusiastically as they turned away from me.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl..."

I couldn't believe this. Technically, she wasn't my girl, but I still held some sort of responsibility over her. Besides, I was the one to take her out, not Charlie. But how could I get her back? I didn't want to start a scene, though if worse came to worst, I wouldn't hesitate to push him around a bit. Or break his nose... I decided to let it play out. I'd keep an eye on them and if he didn't bring her back after one dance, I'd bring out the big guns (not literally). Though 'keeping an eye' on them wasn't as easy as I'd originally planned. There were people moving about everywhere and it was extremely difficult to keep track of them amongst the shifting bodies and smoky air.

I did find them, eventually. But by then it was too late. Charlie had his grimy hands all over Nora as they swayed back and forth, her head against his chest. In the middle of the song, he drew back and forced a kiss on her. She slapped at his hands and tore away as he yelled after her. More than once she tripped and equally drunk people pushed her around. I grabbed her arm and dragged her out, Charlie's threats ringing out behind us as we got further away. Once we'd gotten out of the crowd and into the cold air, I felt as though I'd broken out of a hazy dream.

"Come on, Nora. We have to run." I tugged on her arm as we briskly walked down the empty street.

"John, I can't. I can't," she whined, on the verge of tears.

"Please, Nora. I don't want to get into a fight, okay? If we don't run I might get my arse beaten. Let's go."

"I'm trying. I'm sorry," she blubbered, stumbling after me with my jacket clutched in her free hand.

We rounded a corner and I was getting impatient with the way I had to drag her like dead weight. "Don't cry, babygirl. I know you're completely wasted and you can't do much but please, _please _could you move just a little faster?"

Nora sniffled and picked up speed and before I knew it, we were driving back to her house, safe and silent. By the time we were in her house, she'd managed to trip over her own feet twice and drop her keys in a puddle. I guided her upstairs and into her bed. She groaned as I pulled off her shoes and socks.

"Touch me."

I stopped to stare at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Please." She suddenly sat up and tugged off her cardigan, throwing it to the floor before she did the same with her dress.

"Nora..."

Ignoring my warning tone, she removed her bra and made things a thousand times worse. I forced myself to look away and tried not to focus on the growing pressure between my legs. She was drunk, but I knew that no matter how much I wanted to resist her and how bad I'd feel for taking advantage of her, I wouldn't be able to contain myself. My judgment wavered as her cold hands reached for my own, bringing them up to cup the soft, warm flesh of her breasts. I groaned and squeezed them, her hands still over mine.

"Nora, I can't. You're drunk."

"It's okay, John."

_Fucking hell, _I thought. I drew my hands away and kept my gaze fixed only on her _eyes. _"You know that as much as I want to, I can't."

She pouted and climbed under the covers, leaving only her half-lidded eyes exposed. "Will you just come talk with me, then?"

"Of course."

"Turn out the light."

I flipped the lights out and joined her under the blanket, well-aware of her almost naked body pressed up against my side. We talked about silly things, mostly because she was too out of it to hold much of a conversation about anything.

"John, John, John, John, John... Juh, Juh... Juh... awn... Jaaawwwn," she whispered against my chest.

I rubbed her back and smiled to myself in the darkness. "Do you want to put on a shirt?"

"Noooo. I like having less barriers between us."

"Let me guess, you want me to take off my shirt?"

"Yes."

"I'll think about it when you're sober, hmm?"

Nora's arms constricted around me as she pushed herself closer. "Don't leave me."

It was then that I realized my feelings for her. They ran deeper than I'd thought. And that terrified me. This soft little _thing _had stolen my heart and there was no telling when I'd get it back, or if I'd get it back at all.


	7. Chapter 7

John's POV

We passed through autumn and winter and found ourselves in late spring with a relationship that seemed on the brink of failure. One major problem stood in our way; my band, now called The Silver Beetles, were set to leave for Hamburg, Germany for an indefinite period. Of course, Nora took the news with a smile and made sure that I knew she was happy for us. And she would've fooled me if her eyes hadn't betrayed her emotions. I knew she was worried, and I was, too. I was worried and I didn't want to leave her all alone. Who would be there to protect her or keep her warm on cold nights or take her out? What if she met someone else while I was gone? The thought of leaving her left me with a bad taste in my mouth and a feeling of shame at something I hadn't even done yet. Nora was fragile, no matter how many times she tried to convince me otherwise.

"I'll be fine, John. I'm not a baby, you know." She glanced at me sideways and went back to picking at the peeling skin around her fingernails.

Rain pattered down in a thick sheet outside of the shelter of Nora's front porch. She wiggled her toes, not quite able to touch the cement as her body trembled. Sighing, I pulled her onto my lap, tucking her into my jacket like a kitten as she gasped. My lips grazed over her neck, following the curve of her exceptionally defined shoulder as she relaxed into my chest.

"How're you so skinny, darling? You're like a little flower, y'know. You've got a big poof of hair... like the petals, and then the rest of you is just... so tiny," I mumbled into the crook of her neck.

"Yeah well, that tends to happen when you don't eat very often."

Her whispered words were nearly drowned out by the rain. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to be fat."

"Sweetheart, you're not-"

"I know. But I could be."

This certainly wasn't the first I'd heard of Nora's many insecurities. She didn't like her nose, her thighs, her feet, her shy personality, the little birthmark on her lower back or the way she cried so easily. I took note of all these things and made sure to tell her how much I loved every part of her. And now it all seemed so much more necessary to remind her; I had no idea that she went to such extreme measures. I knew how defensive she could get and decided to express my concern without it being too obvious.

"Nora," I brushed my fingers over her exposed shoulder over and over, relishing the way the sharp bones felt under my flesh but resenting it at the same time, "how much would you say you eat during the day? Like a rough estimate."

She went rigid in my arms and muttered, "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," I prodded gently.

"I don't wanna talk about it." She shifted in my lap and started wiggling her toes again.

My hand crept under the hem of my jacket, up her flat stomach, and stopped at her ribs. "I'd love you even if you were chubby."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I'd rather have a chubby girl than a dead girl."

"It's not a big deal, John. Just leave it, please."

I grabbed her around the waist and plunked her back in her original spot, leaving her wide-eyed before standing up. "But it _is_, Nora! Can't you see? I'm leaving in a couple months for God knows how long and I don't want to come back to a fucking wreck of a girl!"

"We've been together for, what, six months now? And I've gotten by just fine, thank you very much. I'm fine now and I'll be fine when you get back."

"That's because I take you out! I make sure you're fed properly when we're together and I don't worry about when you're alone because I never thought I'd have to! I thought you knew how to take care of yourself! What are you gonna do when I'm gone, Nora? No one will be here to monitor you, and from what I've heard, you're afraid to touch anything when you're not in public!"

"I got along fine before you!" I'd never heard her shout before. It was an alien sight and left me frozen for a brief moment.

It was clear that screaming back and forth wouldn't get us anywhere, so I took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. "Nora, love. I'm just... I dunno, I guess I'm worried about leaving you here. It makes me sad. I know you'll be alone when we leave and I'm scared because I won't be able to take care of you. I'll be too far away if anything happens to you."

"Then maybe we should just end it. That way, you won't have to worry."

My throat went dry and I swear the rain picked up. Everything seemed too loud and my tongue was too big and my teeth were a barrier and I felt like I was collapsing into myself. Did she really mean it? Maybe I'd just imagined it. But she was staring at me with her mouth set in a grim, wavering line as her eyes brimmed with tears and her nose twitched.

Suddenly, she seemed so worn out to me. It was as if I'd been snapped out of a dream; she had dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights and her mouth turned down at the corners. Bruises ran up and down her arms from the countless times I'd been a complete bastard to her, and I realized how badly she _wanted _me to leave. It was no surprise. The first few months had been fine, but as summer drew nearer, I got more aggressive. I think it was because I was comfortable around her, which wasn't great, obviously. More and more often, I found myself stalking out of her house in the evening or pushing her out my front door at the crack of dawn with a stinging palm and a guilty conscience. The unusual thing about her was that she'd keep coming back for more.

No matter how much I slapped her around, she'd always invite me back into her bed and shower me with kisses I didn't deserve. Nora would wear long sleeves and cover up the marks on her face with make up. I didn't understand it in the least. She loved me and I loved her just as much, maybe even more. Even if I didn't show it. I knew flowers, gentle kisses, and dates were a lousy way to try and compensate, but what else could I do? I wasn't prepared to leave her, though she definitely deserved better. I was a selfish teenager, still a boy, and I wouldn't let her leave me. I loved her too much.

"Nora..." I felt the familiar anger creeping up into my chest and wanted to warn her, tell her to run.

I knew she saw it, too, because she shrank away and gave me that _look. _I called it the 'Please, don't' look because her big, watery eyes and tense frame would always be accompanied by those soft, pleading words. I was horrible at controlling my temper and as much as that look killed me, it would be drowned out by my anger. Anger caused by something stupid that set me off. Something stupid like the situation I was in at that moment.

"John," she licked at her lips, "John, I didn't mean it. Really. We'll stay together, okay?" Her voice broke at the last sentence.

"Fucking hell, Nora! Why do you have to look at me like that? You make me feel like the biggest bastard in the world, y'know? With your fuckin' - your pretty little fuckin' face and - God damnit, Nora!"

"John-"

"No, just shut up! Just shut up!"

"John, I'm sorry. Please, d-"

_Slap!_

It was done before I even knew what was happening. A hand flew to her mouth, coming away with blood as she stared down, refusing to meet my gaze. Her whole body heaved violently with held back sobs and I watched the little red drops splatter on the cement with some sort of numb interest. It was more of a flat gaze, totally empty and distant. I couldn't believe it.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be that hard." And as the words left my mouth I felt repulsed by myself.

I didn't mean for it to be _that _hard? What, I could atone for my actions by saying I'd meant to hit her, just not enough to make her bleed? When did it ever become okay for me to hit her in the first place? Both of us had gotten so used to it that it seemed almost _normal_. I couldn't remember the first time I'd intentionally hurt her.

"Nora, Nora, Nora. Fuck!" I groaned, putting my hands to my face.

Sinking to my knees, I watched as she came apart, collapsing into a heap on the ground as she trembled and shook. I said her name again and attempted to bring her into my arms, but she pushed me away and stood up uneasily, dragging the backs of her hands across her teary eyes. Her lips were covered in blood, making it look like she'd put on some sort of liquidy red lipstick. She sniffled and looked anywhere but at me before disappearing through the front door. Since she didn't bother to close the door, I followed her as she walked into the downstairs bathroom and climbed into the bathtub, yanking the curtain back to hide.

"Hey. Kitten." I hadn't used that nickname in awhile.

Sharp intakes of breath and more sniffles. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes rolled by and I was about to leave.

"Johnny, why do you hurt me?"

"I don't know."

"I thought you loved me?" The fact that it was a sincere question made my insides go numb.

"I do. I love you very much."

"But I love you and I don't hurt you. Why couldn't you do the same for me?"

"I don't kn - look, it's-" I sighed, searching for the right words. How do you explain to someone you love why you batter them? "I have a bad temper, you know that. And I don't know how to control it. I want to so badly. For you. And for me. I don't like making you cry, but I honestly haven't a clue as to how to - to make myself more... calm."

"I have an idea... I don't think you'll like it, but I can't tell you unless you promise not to hit me."

"Okay. I promise."

"Maybe we should take a break. Not split up, exactly. Just... some time off. When you come back from Germany, maybe you'll be better." I could hear the fear in her voice.

It didn't seem like the worst idea, but if she wanted 'time off' straight away, well, there would be a problem. "Starting when?"

"Right now."


	8. Chapter 8

John's POV

"You're not serious?" I asked tentatively, staring at the shower curtain.

"Please, just go, John? I'm sick of you treating me like shit all the time."

I rubbed at my face and exhaled, licking at my lips before pulling the curtain back to reveal Nora in all her bloody, beaten-down glory. "Nora," I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. "I'm sorry. I want things to change. I know I don't treat you right, and I know this... separation will be good for us. But that doesn't mean we have to start now."

She tilted her head and gave me a half-smile, the dried blood on her lips crackling. I frowned and reached out to stroke her hair. She winced and looked down. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know," she mumbled shakily, looking up to give me an award-winning smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before her face dropped again and she stared at her legs.

I stopped twirling her hair between my fingers and drew back my hand, causing her to look up at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear. Climbing into the bath wasn't exactly as easy as I'd pictured it to be. In fact, it was incredibly awkward and I nearly fell on top of Nora twice, but I managed it. Uncertainty and obvious discomfort radiated from her in waves and she jumped when I pulled her in for a hug. Her arms flew up to pat my back lightly and she was leaning away ever-so-slightly and I knew I was scaring her.

Hot tears burned my eyes and rolled down my face, eventually making it down to Nora's shoulder as I practically squished her to me and buried my face in the crook of her neck. As soon as she realized what was happening, she placed one hand on the nape of my neck and the other on my back, rubbing in gentle circles. Her sudden affection caught me off guard, making me cry even harder. Not a word of complaint came from her, even though I knew I was crushing her; I heard her spine crack. Instead, she whispered condolences in my ear and petted my hair like a mother would do with her child.

"I'm an awful man. I'm a monster. I'm a right _prick. _Nora, I love you. Please, please don't leave me." The words came out slurred between violent sobs and hiccups.

"I won't. I won't, John. Shh, s'okay. I love you, too. And you're not a monster. You're not. You're just John. You're _my _John. Shhh."

Her words calmed me enough to stop shaking and my sobs turned to sniffles. The scent of her blood mixed with the multicolored bruises spattered across her shoulder and down her back created a gaping hole in my stomach. My fingers came up to touch the marks, carefully running across them as if they were braille. Nora flinched but kept rubbing my back, even giving my neck a soft kiss as I inspected every wound I'd inflicted. We stayed entwined for what felt like hours.

After a significant amount of time, Nora quietly got up and offered to cook dinner for me. I refused and told her to get washed up while I made _her _dinner. It wasn't much, but it was a start to being nicer. Turns out, I was actually a half-decent cook. Must've picked up something from Mimi without even knowing it. I made a nice little French onion soup while Nora showered, and felt good about myself for the first time that day.

...

Nora's POV

"Will you stay tonight?" I asked sleepily, snuggling closer to John's chest.

"Of course I will, sweetheart," he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head and kneading my waist.

It wasn't particularly late, but something about being under a pile of warm blankets with John while a thunderstorm raged outside made me especially sleepy. Claps of thunder interrupted the steady pelting of the rain outside, lulling me into that comfortable, dreamy state before sleep. A serene feeling washed over me and I don't think I could've opened my eyes if I tried. John's big, warm hands traveled down my back before slipping under my (rather short) nightgown. They went up and down my back, sometimes pausing to rub a certain spot or trace my spine.

I'd just slipped into a light sleep when I heard John's quiet voice. "I don't deserve you."

Everything was muffled and it felt like there was no substance to anything, so naturally, I thought it was a dream. But another part of me knew that wasn't true. Obviously, he thought I was asleep, and didn't intend for me to hear that, nor provide him with an answer. I guess I was asleep. Partially.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around my midsection. "You're gorgeous and thoughtful and smart and there isn't a bad bone in your body. I don't understand why you keep coming back to me. You could do so much better. And maybe you will, when we go to Germany. But I'm selfish, so I guess even if you did find someone else, I wouldn't let him keep you..."

"The things I do to you..." He sighed again, anger creeping into his soft voice. "I don't wanna do that to you anymore. And on top of all this, I'm scared. What if something happens to you while I'm gone? I want to be here every day and every night. Just to make sure you're okay, to keep you from being lonely. You probably want me to leave, though. I'd want me to leave, too."

At this point, he was crying a little and stroking my hair, making me want to grab his face and give him a million kisses. "And what about after, when I get back? I think about it all the time. What if you decide you don't love me anymore? I don't know what I'd do without you, Nora. I want to stay with you forever. I love you."

I floated in and out of consciousness, half-listening to John's quiet sobbing, half-pondering his words. It wasn't like I hadn't taken all those things into consideration, too. I was scared that I'd lose him, but at the same time I wondered if maybe I might feel relieved to not have him pushing me around constantly. Whenever I thought that, I felt guilty, and I'd remind myself that John was the best thing to happen to me. I didn't have anyone but him and George, and lately, George had been growing distant.

I never told anyone about the abuse, but George picked up on it straight away. He kept trying to get me to admit to it, but I always shook my head and made up a story as to how I'd gotten a certain bruise or cut or black eye. Eventually, he became pissed off and started talking to me less and less.

But the thing was, I wasn't about to admit to anyone that my boyfriend hit me. I didn't want to make John into the bad guy, even though we all knew he most certainly was. I loved him despite all the awful things he did, and it killed me when he'd cry after a fight. If it were anyone else, I would've been gone months ago. Something about John threw me off, though. All my anger at him would melt away when he started blubbering about how sorry he was and how he felt like the lowest dirt on Earth.

I wouldn't and couldn't give him up. John was my everything. Everyone else would come around, eventually. Or John would follow through with his pledge to stop hitting me.


	9. Chapter 9

John's POV

I slouched in the corner, steadily sipping at what could have been my fourth beer but was more like my eighth. Band practice had been held at Nora's house earlier and she'd invited me and the other lads to stay for dinner. Dinner was long over, the kitchen had been cleaned, and our instruments were packed up neatly in the foyer, waiting to be taken home. But she'd absolutely insisted that we stay longer, which came as both a surprise and a nuisance to me. I wanted the others to leave so I could, you know... with Nora. After the first half hour had passed, I was more than eager for them to leave. Now, nearly an hour later, I was sampling every alcoholic drink in sight, feeling uneven and bitter.

Pete and Paul were chatting by the record player, but my focus wasn't on them. George was sitting uncomfortably close to Nora, a hand resting on her thigh while he whispered things that made her giggle and turn pink. He'd flash a smile at her and smooth back his hair and I could tell he thought he was top shit. I wanted to go over there and knock out his stupid vampire teeth. It was like he was teasing me. Anyone could tell he was flirting with her. But he hadn't necessarily done anything wrong. That bastard.

Nora's expression perfectly described my feelings at that moment. George's hand was under her skirt. My eyes flew back up to Nora's face to gauge her reaction. Nothing. It was as if I'd imagined the look of utter astonishment on her face not seconds before. She looked neutral. No, not neutral. She looked mildly pleased. The way she looked whenever I pulled the exact same move on her. Nevermind George, his fascination with Nora had been building over the last few months and it had all been leading up to this; it was expected. But Nora...

A sour taste filled my mouth and I ground my teeth together. White-hot anger speared through my body like lightning. I stormed over to the two, shoving George's hands away and giving Nora quite possibly the hardest slap I'd ever given anyone. Paul and Pete went quiet, their stares boring into my back while George's dumbfounded face resided in the corner of my eye. I looked down at Nora, her shiny eyes leaking with tears, making long black streams of makeup down her face, over the red welt on her left cheek. My hand stirred at my side, causing her to whimper. She squeezed her eyes shut before standing up, coming only to my chest at full height. The whole room was still silent as I bent down to apologize, when she struck me across the face. A collective gasp was heard from myself as well as the other three boys. Nora's mouth fell open, her pretty pink lips forming an 'O' as she slowly edged away, eyes wide and palms raised.

Blinking back my own tears, I ground my teeth together again and flared my nostrils, reaching for the nearest beer bottle and launching it straight at my little girl. A strangled "no" escaped my lips as it left my hand. It was too late.

Nora's POV

I ducked just in time, the empty bottle crashing into the wall directly above my head and raining down over me in jagged, brown pieces as all four boys yelled in protest. My hands flew to my ears and I felt stray fragments prick at my knuckles as I slid down the wall. Rough hands dipped under my arms, hauling me to my feet so I was eye level with John's chest. He gripped my upper arms and shook me about like a broken toy, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"You're a fucking whore! I thought you were different, Nora! I thought you loved me! But you're just like everyone else, you're a filthy lying bitch and I swear-!"

"John, get off her! Come on, mate!" Paul shouted, he and Pete getting a hold of either of John's shoulders and ripping him away from me. It seemed everyone had finally come back to their senses.

John thrashed about, shaking them off before narrowing his eyes at me and smoothing his hair back. He turned and strode over to the Victorian-style sofa, plunking down on the hard cushions before propping his feet up on the ornate coffee table, ankles crossed. Paul put a protective arm around my shoulders and asked if I was alright. I nodded, looking to Pete, who grimaced and turned his attention to John. George lingered in the corner of the room, a mixture of fear and rage on his face as he kept his gaze fixated on John, as well. It seemed all eyes were on my boyfriend, awaiting his next move.

John turned to George. "How 'bout it, Georgie? You pull her dress up and stick your filthy hands in her knickers? You like to finger-fuck my girl?"

The room was dead silent at this point, my face was hot, and I could hardly breathe. When there was no reply from anyone, John continued, his Liverpudlian accent becoming more pronounced with every word he spat out. "Well, Geo, I'll tell ya somethin'. She's a real good fuck. A little minx. She'll look up at ya with those big doe eyes and you'll feel things ya never felt before. But ya already knew that."

"John, stop it. Please," I whispered, my voice too weak to speak at a normal volume.

"And you, Nora? You take it like a good girl, I bet. You let 'im fuck you until yer bleedin' all over the fuckin' place," he chattered away in a sarcastic, sneering tone, completely disregarding my pleas. "Just like you do for me. Oh, you _beg _for it. 'John, oh, _Johnny_! Johnny, yes! Right there, _ohhh_,'" he whined in a girly voice.

His objective was clear. Now that there were three other boys, he couldn't slap me around as he pleased and forget the whole ordeal had happened. He planned to humiliate me instead. John was spiteful and really quite heartless when he was angry, so this was the next best thing he could do to get back at me for whatever he thought I'd done wrong.

My eyes were brimming with unshed tears at this point. A metallic taste filled my mouth as I bit down on my trembling lip, staring at the carpet as I picked at my nails.

"Alright! That's enough, just fucking stop it, John! Okay? Shut your fucking mouth!" Paul interrupted John's imitation of me, his hazel eyes filled with animosity.

Everyone was quiet again. The anger faded from John's face and he turned his gaze to the floor, looking like a child caught doing something bad.

"I think it's high time we all went home. I'm sure everyone's tired..." Paul said, his eyes never leaving mine.

Pete mumbled in agreement and nodded, stealing a quick glance at John before walking in the direction of the front door. I gave Paul a tight smile and turned my attention to George. The phrase 'if looks could kill' ran through my head. Never before had I seen George in such a state. He looked like he was ready to murder John. Paul kept his arm around my shoulders as we walked to the foyer. George gave a final look at John, shoving his hands in his pockets and striding to the door.

"G'night, Nora. I'll ring you tomorrow, love," he said, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder and pulling me into a tight hug accompanied by a short kiss too close to my mouth to be an accident before walking off into the night.

Pete was next to go, getting Paul and I to help him load up his drum kit into the boot of his car. "Thanks for supper, it was great... and I'm sorry about, uh... you know," he threw a look over his shoulder in the general direction of the sitting room before giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek that was quite different from the one George had given me. I returned his kiss and said goodnight, putting on my cheeriest face.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Paul asked, his eyes flicking back and forth from me to the sitting room.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "I'll be fine. John's okay now. It's over. He'll probably cry and say sorry a lot. But thanks."

He nodded. "Well. Thanks. For letting us practice here and making dinner. It was wonderful. You take care of yourself, sweetheart. And if anything else happens, you'll ring me, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling in spite of myself.

"Good," he said, giving me a toothy grin.

A long embrace and more kisses on cheeks were exchanged, and I could tell it was the start of a friendship that would last for many years to come. He picked up his guitar, allowing himself one more look at the sitting room before bidding me goodnight and disappearing into the evening.

Reluctantly, I closed the door, turning around to face the problem that awaited me not thirty feet away. I trudged to the sitting room with a heavy heart, imagining all the possible scenarios. John looked up at me when I came in, eyes red. He looked as tired as I felt. Another few steps landed me beside him, a hand on his knee.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was weak and rough, breaking on the last syllable.

"What? For calling me a filthy, cheating whore, for slapping me, or for throwing a fucking bottle at me?" I snapped.

"All of it. I shouldn't have-"

"But you did," I cut in. "...you did."

"I know. Whatever I say won't make up for any of it. I've done so many bad things to you... nothing I say or do will ever make up for anything. But I do love you."

More tears welled up in my eyes and seeped into my voice. "We're back to square one, John! We were doing so well. We're back to where we started. You hit me, you say sorry, you tell me you love me, you ask me why I still love you. Well guess what? I don't have an answer. I don't know why I love you. I should have left a long time ago."

"Maybe you're afraid."

"What?"

"You're afraid of leaving me. You know how violent I am and you're scared I'll hurt you if you try to leave. But I wouldn't hurt you, Nora."

"Are you even listening to yourself, John? You wouldn't hurt me?! You've already hurt me. Several times. So for you to-"

"I wouldn't because we'd be over! You wouldn't be doing anything wrong so why would I be mad at you? I'd beat the shit out of whoever it was you were with, but I wouldn't fucking touch you!" he retorted.

I relaxed my posture, too worn out to say anything. I took John's hands, laying down so my head rested on his lap, and clutched his hands to my chest. He managed to free a hand, stroking my hair back as he kissed my temple. I sat up, repositioning myself so I was on his lap, clinging to him like a scared toddler, my face buried the crook of his neck. He was what I was hiding from, but at the same time he was home. Safe. Protecting me from himself.

"You love George, don't you?"

I froze in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

John's POV

From the first step I took across Nora's sitting room the moment I spotted George's hand under her skirt, I knew I'd already fucked up. She'd somehow managed to get out of the way of the bottle I'd thrown at her, yet I still couldn't keep myself from imagining what could have been if she hadn't dropped to the floor in that one fraction of a second. I was bombarded by the usual follow up of emotions after any sort of "argument" with Nora: self-doubt, remorse, anger, heartache. One thing I'd always been totally aware of was the fact that I didn't deserve her one bit. I knew George could and would give her things I couldn't. And I knew that she was just as painfully aware of that fact, too.

Life without Nora was unimaginable and just the thought of it made me queasy. Sometimes, after a particularly bad row, when she was sound asleep in my arms, I'd compare myself to George. Scenarios would play out in my mind, fueling my self degradation. George, holding her close while she slept, a telltale bump protruding from under the blankets that covered them. George, kissing her cheek while she held a baby in her arms. My mind conjured up painfully vivid images, and for what? I was convinced that one day she'd go, and I wouldn't stop her because I loved her too much to do anything but mourn and bask in self-pity.

But for now, we were still safe. Close to the edge, yes, but still standing. I tried so desperately to live in the moment these days, afraid that I'd lose her at any given time. And now here we were. Back to where we started.

"You love George, don't you?" The words spilled out of my mouth.

She pressed herself closer to me, shifting herself on my lap so her skirt rode even higher up her thighs, in danger of exposing her panties. I sucked in a breath and tried not to focus on the growing pressure between my legs. If ever there had been an inappropriate moment to be turned on, this was definitely it. Her gentle, tentative hands reached down to tug at her skirt, smoothing the hem out over her soft thighs as best she could before she refocused her attention on me.

Nora's face was thoughtful as she slowly spoke. "George? I... yes. I _do _love-"

"Sweetheart, I just want you to know that-" I interjected, ready to give her the full speech about how I supported her and I knew it would be hard, but could we still be friends?

"John! I'm not finished," she said, pressing a dainty finger to my lips,"I love him, but... you're the only one. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, my voice husky. I sensed the hesitation in her voice but ignored it, wary of getting into another shouting contest that would most certainly end in both of us being emotionally hurt and only one of us physically hurt.

She quickly pecked my lips and dove in for a long hug. Amidst all the gooey making up and hugging, her skirt had pushed back again, making me groan internally. My hands made a path down her back, slowly to her thighs, sliding up and up before settling just under the hem of her skirt, my fingers tracing the outline of her underwear, creeping up to touch the warm, wet spot between her legs.

"Juh... Juh - _ohh, Jaaawwwnnn_," she moaned quietly, almost whispering.

She sucked on my neck and reached down to my tenting pants. I sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed ahold of her wrist. "Nuh-uh, baby. Upstairs."

I carried her up to her dark bedroom, stumbling over clothing scattered across the floor, finally slamming into her bed and nearly falling on top of her. By then we were ravenous, clawing at each other's clothes and exchanging carbon dioxide, not taking a moment to breathe. Lightheadedness made its appearance, causing me to tear away from Nora's lips to take in a breath. She whimpered desperately and reconnected our mouths, working at the zipper on my jeans as I tore off her lilac colored panties. We fought for dominance, rolling around on the bed as we undressed each other feverishly.

Finally, I gained control and pushed her down, taking in her naked body and biting my lower lip. Pinning her arms above her head, I trailed soft kisses down from her wrists to her elbows, to her shoulders. She said my name quietly, hungrily, wrapping her legs around my waist and trying to create some sort of friction between us.

"Shhh. Shhh, Nora. I wanna be gentle tonight. I wanna take care of you," I murmured, kissing up her neck and stopping just below her ear.

"But John, I don't want you to. I want you to hurt me," she whispered, calmer now.

I removed my hands from around her wrists and slid them down her outstretched arms the way I'd done with my lips just minutes before. "No you don't."

"I _do_!" she said indignantly, sounding like a stubborn toddler.

"Well, I'm not gonna do that. I've hurt you enough already for one night, don't you agree?"

"Fine," she mumbled, giving in.

I smiled and planted a long, tender kiss on her jaw before shifting her body so it matched with mine. We slept well that night.

...

Nora's POV

The morning of August 17, I sat on my porch, taking in the cloudless blue sky and the premature warmth of the sun. John turned to me, a little frown on his face.

"It won't be too long. Three and a half months, I think..."

I bit down on my trembling lip, staring straight ahead into the blooming day, trying not to let my tears seep into my words, rather fruitlessly, I might add. "I know... but... it'll seem... like... forever."

"Aww, sweetheart, don't cry. It'll be okay. I'll be back before you know it. And we'll be famous..." he trailed off, gazing into the distance before snapping back to reality and giving me a toothy grin.

"Oh, you're right," I sniffled, wiping at my eyes and chuckling,"you'll be back and everything will be fine."

"Better than fine."

"Better than fine," I agreed.

Birds sang, greeting the new day with a flourish as we sat in silence, holding hands, both of us wanting the moment to last forever. But of course, everything ends. John gave my hand a squeeze, then stood up and pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Usually, I'd be whining and pleading with him to let go, but today wasn't a regular day. So I let him squash all the available oxygen out of my lungs before uttering a single gasp to signal I was out of breath.

He pulled back and grinned at me while I rubbed out the kinks in my back and took a few deep breaths. I grinned back. John glanced at his watch, that devilish grin turning to a frown. He looked at me, eyes bright and watery. I felt my mouth tugging down at the corners, the telltale prick of tears stinging at my own eyes and launched myself at him. I nearly knocked him over with the force of my embrace, surprising both of us enough to utter hysterical laughs.

"I love you," he whispered, petting at my hair with one hand while the other held me firmly to his body.

"I love you, too."

"Be a good girl while I'm gone."

His lips tickled my neck, sending a shiver up my spine. It was an awkward combination of feelings. I was turned on but crying at the same time. Pushing the former emotion away, I kissed at his jaw.

"And you be a good _boy, _mister," I said.

"Jesus, Nora, you pick the worst times to turn me-"

But he never got to finish what he was saying, because the postman cut him off with a cheery, "Mornin', kids! I suggest ya take that inside 'fore the oldies come out for breakfast, eh?"

I giggled and tore away from John, skipping down the front walk to greet Ted as he winked at me. I felt giddy, with a weird mixture of longing and a premonition for bad news brewing in my stomach.

"Watcha got for me today, Teddy?" I said, trying to stamp down the odd feelings.

"Well, Nora, m'dear," he began, sifting through his enormous post bag, "I think I've got somethin' from yer mum in 'ere..."

He handed me a stiff little white envelope that looked very professional. Ted gave me an uneasy smile that turned into a grimace. John looked back and forth between us, unsure of what was going on.

"Teddy... do you think...?" I gazed into his worried eyes earnestly, hoping he'd say no.

He only nodded. "I'm sorry, Nora. Really. Take care, dear."

And with that he gave me a short hug and was gone, off to deliver more mail. After all, he couldn't postpone his job just to console the little girl on the corner. John narrowed his eyes at me as I offered him my best smile.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. It's just a letter I get every couple months about my mom. You know, how she's doing and where she is and... it's a little upsetting because, I always think that this might be the last time she sends a letter... 'cause she might... die. But it's okay, I'm sure she'll be fine."

He didn't look convinced, but he let it drop anyway, not wanting to spend our last few minutes together fighting. "Well, I hope she's alright, Nora. And I hope you'll be alright, too. I, uh... I have to go. Flight leaves in an hour and I still have to pick up George and Paul."

"Okay," I mumbled. "Okay. I love you, John."

"I love you too, Nora. Take care of yourself and try not to get into too much trouble, 'cause I won't be here to protect you anymore," he said, cupping my face between his hands.

I kissed his nose, and he kissed my forehead, whispering, "Goodbye."

I watched him step into his car, giving me a goofy grin and waving before disappearing down the road.

I put my fingers to my lips, blowing a kiss to no one. "Goodbye, John."

The envelope in my hands beckoned me to go inside, flapping in the balmy summer breeze. I wandered up to my mother's long-deserted bedroom, pushing back the curtains and opening the window. Climbing under her floral blankets that still smelled of her, I tore open the envelope, cutting myself on a sharp edge.

"Shit," I muttered, thumbing open the neatly folded paper.

Though I already knew what the letter would say, the words didn't hurt any less when I read them. I cried for hours in my mom's bed, burying my face in her pillows.

She was dead.


	11. Chapter 11

Nora's POV

The first letter from the boys (written in 5 segments) came about a week later. It was the usual hi hello, how are you? we're great Hamburg's great, miss you lots love you goodbye. Though I hadn't expected much else, disappointment still set in. I told myself to get a grip, none of my friends were psychics; how could they know of the tragedy that had just struck? The hardest part was debating whether or not to tell them. I decided to write a joint letter to Pete, Paul, John, and Stu (their bassist), but include a separate one for George. Nosy though they were, I didn't think they'd peek at the special one for George.

September loomed before me, less than a week away. Which not only meant the dawn of autumn, but also the start of a new school year. Preoccupation with the boys over the summer had meant partial abandonment of my old friends, not that they cared much. I certainly wasn't the center of my old group. But now that the boys were in Hamburg for three and a half months, I'd either have to suck it up and make new friends, or keep to myself. The former seemed unappealing; terrifying, actually. What with the recent death of my mother, though, I knew that I'd need someone to keep my grief at bay.

...

School started again. Another year of social pressure, isolation, and adventure. Not to mention self-discovery. But all my expectations were shattered when a dark haired man in his late twenties showed up on my doorstep on a Saturday morning in mid-September. He introduced himself as Tommy Wilson from America, though his Yankee accent gave him away before he could present me with his mother country, which he seemed unabashedly proud of, as most Yanks in Liverpool did. His well-built, army fatigues-clad body stepped over the threshold of my front door without my permission, making my heart thunder erratically in my chest as I took a step back.

"Now, why don't we have ourselves a chat in your livin' room?" he said before I'd even gotten a word in.

I nodded, wondering what in the world had brought this attractive American soldier to my doorstep in little old Liverpool. Closing the door behind me, I followed him into the sitting room, perching on the edge of my favorite easy chair as he sunk back into the sofa, propping his dirty combat boots on the coffee table.

"So," he began, pausing to light a cigarette, "you must be Nora."

"Yes," I said timidly, my eyes darting to his boots.

"Valerie's daughter..." He trailed off, staring into space before snapping back to attention almost immediately. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. For your loss. She was a great gal. Tough, though she could be a real sweetheart if ya ever got on her good side."

I smiled nervously.

Tommy sniffed, taking another puff on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a smooth stream. "Tell me about yourself, Nora. We've got all day, doll. And tomorrow, too. And the next day. Well, point is, we've got lots of time to bond, because I'm gonna be your new caretaker. Don't think of it as babysitting, think of it more as... a friend helping another friend's kid."

I didn't like the grin he flashed me before he lit another cigarette, putting out the first one between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, I... I'm turning seventeen in less than a month. I'm from France. I... my boyfriend's in Germany with his band right now..."

"Boyfriend?" He sounded genuinely shocked, but quickly brushed it off with a wave of his hand. "Of course you got a man. Who wouldn't be sweet on you? You remind me of them porcelain dolls they got back at home. My mama used to collect those, ayuh. Every holiday, there'd be a new one out... Fourth o' July, Easter, Christmas... Anyways, you say you're from France? Do you parlez-vous?"

He said it like _par-lay vooz_. I nodded again, too afraid to correct him. "Let's hear it, girl!" His feet slid onto the floor as he slapped his hands down on his thighs, cigarette dangling from his lips as he leaned forward, waiting for me to say something in French.

I cleared my throat and swallowed, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Bonjour, monsieur. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer."

My mouth was dry, my voice weak. We sat in silence for a few seconds, time being recounted by the constant faint ticking of the grandfather clock situated by the fireplace. He seemed intrigued by me, a smile creeping up onto his face, making me squirm. The ash on his cigarette became longer, building up to the point where I thought he'd burn his lips if he kept the damn thing in his mouth any longer.

Finally, he leaned back into the sofa again, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and depositing it into the ashtray on the table. "I don't know what you said, but I trust it wasn't something mean. I can tell nothin' nasty comes outta that sweet mouth o' yours."

"Hm. Well, looks can be deceiving, _Tommy_," I said, putting emphasis on his name as I shot him a plastic smile full of contempt.

He chuckled, catching the disdain in my voice and matching it perfectly. "Listen, honey. I'm not here to fuck around. Your mom was a bitch. A real bitch, I tell ya. But she's dead, and she left you behind. Her will said nothin' about you. I suspect she didn't wanna raise suspicion from the authorities an' have you sent to an orphanage 'til your eighteenth birthday. But, as it always turns out, they knew about you, and naturally, they sent me here to look after you."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why did they choose you? And why didn't they tell me you were coming?"

"Beats me," he said, looking genuinely confused. "All I know's I gotta take care of you for the next year. Then you're free to do whatever you so please. But here's the thing, if we're gonna be living together, I need to set some ground rules."

I pursed my lips, waiting for him to continue. "Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna tell you a little sort of list of rules, and if you disobey 'em, there'll be some repercussions. Okey dokey?"

...

Three hours later, Tommy the military prick was moved in, taking the guest bedroom upstairs - directly next to mine. He made himself at home, cracking open a bottle of my mother's aged wine, throwing off his military jacket, and sitting down to lay out the "rules." I watched all this from afar, arms crossed tightly over my braless chest. To leave him alone was simply out of the question. I needed to stalk him, watch his every move to make sure he didn't... what? What exactly was there to get into in this house? Everything was neat and polished, my mother's bedroom locked, the key resting against my chest on a silver chain.

I sat down carefully, crossing my legs as he assessed me. "Here are the rules: don't _ever _call me 'dad.' I am not your dad, I will never be your dad, and therefore, I don't want you think of me as your dad. In fact, I ain't even old enough to be your daddy. Got it? Good. Okay, that's about it. So, if - oh! nope, hold on. I got one more rule: keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. If you piss me off, you'll have nice purple bruises decoratin' your China doll face. You got that?"

"Yes," I muttered, my voice hitching.

He seemed to think he'd gotten the message across quite efficiently because his stony face softened into a goofy grin that I hated myself for finding handsome. Here was this asshole, storming into my house, telling me he'd take care of me in lieu of my recently deceased mother, not offering even a shred of sympathy, threatening to beat me if I crossed him, and then thinking he could make it all okay with a smile. But what choice did I have but to obey him? It wasn't like John or George or even Paul were here to protect me, take me in.

A feeling of longing and homesickness struck me, thinking about my boys in Germany. I found myself wishing for Stu, even though I barely knew him. He was more familiar than Tommy, which was all I needed at that moment. To be stuck with this guy for two or three more months made me feel sick. Panic fluttered in my chest as Tommy stood up, walking the short distance between us and picking me up from the chair into a tight hug. I couldn't move, which made it all that much more apparent that if he decided to do anything funny, I'd have no leeway whatsoever.

He kissed the top of my head, whispering into my hair, "Mmm. We're gonna be fine, doll."

Tears sprang up in my eyes as fear nestled itself into my chest, preparing for the long winter ahead.


	12. Chapter 12

Nora's POV

"Nora, darlin', how 'bout startin' up dinner before I leave? I should be back in a jiffy," Tommy said, appearing in the doorway to my bedroom.

"Uh, sure. Yeah. What would you like?" I asked, glancing up from my novel.

He put a finger to his chin, as if in deep thought. "Mmm, I think... I think I miss my mama's cookin'. I think I want a nice, big steak - medium rare, darlin' - with some o' those green beans on the side and... mashed potatoes. Yeah. You want anything while I'm out?"

"Cigarettes, please."

"Any preference?"

I shook my head no, smiling.

Tommy took a sweeping look over my room before gently tapping the doorframe with his palms. "Alrighty, I'll be back soon."

I listened to the sound of his feet shuffling down the staircase, across the foyer, and finally, the slam of the front door. Tommy wasn't really such a bad guy. Maybe he was a little weird in the beginning, but as we got to know each other, we became used to one another. He generally treated me just the way I wanted him to, but that didn't mean that he didn't have a bad day every now and then. Maybe I should have been used to it, what with John constantly looming over me for the last few months. But I never was.

Just the week before, Tommy and I had been working out in the garden, soaking up the last few days before October came round, obliterating the sun and sweeping the dead leaves up into whirlwinds and rainstorms. We dug weeds from the flowerbeds and raked up the scattering of leaves and gave the dying grass a final trim before winter came to freeze it for a few months. He poked fun at my slight Parisian accent, to which I rebutted with a softer jab at his much more prominent Yankee accent. I guess my little attempt to make us equals hit a bit too close to home for Tommy, because before I knew it, he'd reached across the short distance between us to slam me square in the jaw. A short, quick slap that stung worse than anything John had ever given me. When I looked into his eyes the moment after, I didn't see any remorse; just cold, hard fury. After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut.

I made my way to the kitchen, absently touching my fingertips to the fading greenish bruise still on my cheek, wondering what John would make of this whole thing had he still been in Liverpool. Thoughts of John reminded me of the letters I sent out not so long ago. George and I had kept a secret correspondence, sharing news, advice, condolences, etc. He'd apparently respected my wishes to not tell anyone about my mother or Tommy, since no one else had written anything that even hinted at the possibility that they may have known about the recent hectic events. I hoped our secret would be kept safe until John came back. If he heard that in the light of my mother dying, a twentysomething military jerk came into my home and ordered me around (sometimes even shooting me looks that made me squirm), he'd turn around and run back to Liverpool with the others, if that's what it took. Their career was just starting to take off, and I didn't want to ruin their chances of success with some overblown emotional turmoil misinterpreted by George as a cry for help.

I half-jogged out to the mailbox, barefoot on the bitingly cold cement of the front walk. Nearly hopping on my toes, I rushed back into the warmth of my house, a large, thick, envelope in my hand. Under my pillow I hid it for later, then ran back down the staircase, feeling faint as black spots started to cloud my vision. A hard pinch to my left arm brought me back to my senses. The wall-mounted clock read a quarter past seven as I started to prepare Tommy's requested dinner. Twenty minutes later, he was back, as promised, with four packs of cigarettes, two each. I quietly thanked him, dishing out the food onto two plates that contrasted greatly in portions. He surprised me by swooping in to give me a sweet kiss on my cheek, too close to my mouth. It reminded me of the last kiss George had given me, except this time I felt no fluttering in my stomach, only churning.

We sat down at opposite ends of the mahogany table, the kiss still lingering on the bruised part of my face as I stared down in silent reproach at the food before me. I wondered if Tommy had noticed my unusual eating habits, or if he'd been observing me, but had been waiting for the right time to tackle the subject, or maybe find the right words to start up a conversation about what a strange coincidence it was that I was so thin and I hardly ever ate. He looked up first at me, then down at my untouched meal, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes flickered back up to mine. They clearly said, _Eat. _My fork felt like it weighed twenty pounds as I speared three green beans, shoving them into my mouth awkwardly and looking anywhere but at Tommy's piercing green eyes, pretending as if nothing at all was out of place.

We finished eating, Tommy's plate clean and empty, mine in almost the exact state it had been at the start of dinner, only a few forced bites missing from each food item. My hands plunged into the scalding, soapy water, burning so ferociously that the heat travelled up through my wrists, twining into every part of my body. I felt more lightheaded and dizzy than ever, sweating and breathing heavily. Another tight pinch to the skin of my forearm saved me from a plunge to the floor. While scrubbing the dishes, the telephone sprang up in a cacophony, being cut short rather quickly by Tommy, who answered the phone with a pleasant hello.

"Nora, someone named George is on the other end, here!" he called from the sitting room.

A giddy smile dashed my face as I dried my hands on a tea towel and practically skipped over to Tommy, snatching the reciever from his hand. "George?"

"Nora. God, Nora. How are you? Are you alright? Is he hurting you? I'm sorry I haven't rang before now, but it's a real bugger, what with the time difference and how busy we've been."

"Georgie, everything is great. He's... Tommy's really great. And it's okay, I understand. I didn't expect you to call, actually..."

I twirled the cord around my finger nervously, watching Tommy out of the corner of my eye as he listened in to my side of the conversation. George babbled on about the shows they'd done, stunts they'd pulled, people they'd met. He even mentioned that he'd finally done it, he'd finally lost his virginity. When I asked him who the lucky lady was, he wouldn't say a word and was quick to change the subject. I suspected it was a prostitute. Why else would he be so unwilling to admit who he'd lost it to? My answers to his questions were pretty limited, given that Tommy had retired to the sofa, appearing to be engrossed by the newspaper, when it was blatantly obvious that he was eavesdropping, making sure I didn't flap my "pretty little mouth" too much.

George eventually caught on to my unusual behaviour, not asking anymore questions, only telling me to watch myself and that he loved me and he couldn't wait to see me in December and he'd try to squeeze in another call on my birthday. I told him I loved him, choking back tears, and reluctantly hung up. Tommy smirked up at me as I turned, walking back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.

When the kitchen sparkled once again, I examined my pruny hands, walking upstairs to flop into my bed and fall asleep.

...

My birthday rolled around, as did the promised call from George. A quick, "Hi, happy birthday, thank you, goodbye" was exchanged between Paul, Pete, Stu, and I. Then John came on. I fell to my knees and crawled under one of the endtables in the sitting room, curling up in a ball and sobbing when he said he missed me.

"Shhh, love, calm down. It's alright. I'm gonna be home soon. Just a little more than two months. It'll be okay. Shhh, kitten."

"It's just that... I... I m-miss you all s-so much, and..." I struggled to get a sentence out between my gross sobbing.

"Shhh, take a deep breath, Nora. Just relax. Talk to me, okay? Listen to me. I miss you, too. I miss you more than I've ever missed anyone before. And I think about you every waking moment. Sometimes I see something that I think you'd like and I go to tell you about it, but then I remember you aren't here. I dream of you every night. Every night, Nora, I pray to whoever the hell is up there that you're safe, and happy, and warm."

His voice calmed me enough that I was reduced to the occasional sniffle by the end of his little speech. "I just want you here. Right now."

"I know, love. I want to be there, too. It really isn't that great here. Very dirty. And we have to share beds!" He uttered a short laugh.

I giggled, imagining the five boys cramming into a twin bed, all on their sides, sandwiched together like a can of sardines.

"And you know what the worst part is?" He sighed. "The worst part is waking up with my arms 'round Paul's waist, realizing it isn't you."

I laughed some more. "Well at least you have people to keep you company. I've got a pillow and a hot waterbottle."

"Oh, darling. You must be a lonely little wreck by now."

"Oh but I am. Come back, John. As soon as you can."

"You know I will, love. We'll go on a date, yeah? Anyway, happy birthday, Nora. And I'm sorry I can't be there to celebrate it with you."

My vision blurred with tears again. "And happy birthday to you, Johnny. Have a good one. And take care of yourself and the others, okay?"

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I hung up the phone, crawling out from my position under the table to find Tommy, hands on his hips, grinning down at me. "Hi..."

"Happy birthday, Nora. I've got something for you, darlin'."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?"

He nodded. "Follow me."

Deja vu struck me at his words, but I couldn't place where I'd seen this situation before. When it finally hit me, it was far too late. I was already upstairs, in Tommy's bedroom, the light being switched off as he shut the door. I spun around, ready to ask him what he was doing, when he pushed me down to the unmade bed, nearly tackling me. I wriggled under him, screaming and biting and kicking as the sound of the phone came wandering up into the room, distant like a dream.

I cried later that night, feeling sore and vulnerable and used for the second time in my life. Happy birthday to me.


	13. Chapter 13

Nora's POV

October passed slowly, only slightly cushioned by the new friends (is that what they were?) I'd made at school, and the letters from Hamburg. Apparently the band had been moved to a different venue because of noise complaints. No surprise there. Telling George about what happened between Tommy and I was completely out of the question. In the rare event of one of either Paul, George or John ringing me to catch up, I'd put on a cheery charade, answering their questions quickly but with a certain degree of calmness, before steering away to an irrelevant subject that would keep their questions at bay for just a little while longer. If one of them detected so much as a slight frown in my voice and asked what was wrong, I'd surely burst into tears and ruin the secret. It turned into a game; how long could I last on the phone before turning into a complete wreck?

The already tense atmosphere between Tommy and I had gotten worse, obviously. It was like I was so busy watching out for him and bracing myself for his next move that I didn't notice when he was around. He would appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and I'd flinch, never daring to make eye contact. But of course, he'd brush it off and pretend like nothing had happened, call me pet names and touch me. Friends were never allowed over. That was my rule, not his. In fact, he was constantly badgering me to invite people over_. _I wasn't about to let him treat them the same way he treated me.Not that some of them couldn't fend for themselves or protect me if he tried anything.

Josh and I were walking back to my house, his arm wrapped tight around my shoulders to keep me warm. The sun had gone down a long time ago, and I'd begged him to stay with me, just like almost every other night since we'd started going out. He stopped asking why awhile ago, giving up because maybe he knew the basics of what was going on, but couldn't quite piece together the details. Instead, he'd only nod and tell me I could stay with him for as long as I wanted. But the last time I'd been absent for a week, Tommy had delivered a swift slap to my face, telling me to stay where I belonged, that Josh was no good. I bit back the urge to claw at his face.

"We're here," he said, stopping to look up at the one illuminated window in the house: Tommy's room.

I smiled tightly, nodding. "Yes."

"Nora, I - nevermind." Josh looked at the ground, shuffling his feet.

"What?"

"It's nothing, really. Goodnight, love," he said, kissing me quickly before walking off.

"I... okay..." I stared after him, forlorn.

His figure had become lost in the darkness long before I headed inside, numb from the cold. I sighed, wondering if I'd made a mistake, becoming involved with another guy. Then again... the pact John and I had made was still in effect, so it wasn't like I was cheating on him. And it also wasn't like I was oblivious to the fact that there were plenty of pretty girls in Germany. I replaced John with Josh. The names were similar, they looked similar, and their personalities were similar. Minute differences were the only things that really separated them; they could have been long lost twins. I guess that's why I took such a liking to him. Why he returned the affection, I'll never know. It wasn't like I was anything special.

...

The nights became harsher and colder with the approach of November. Tommy seemed to change with the weather, pulling my hair when I did something wrong, even bending me over his knee a few times, as if I were a child. I howled, but never fought back, knowing all too well what would happen if I did. My friends became suspicious when I stopped going out with them. But Josh was the one who noticed the most that something was severely out of place. And tonight was the breaking point.

We were kissing on his bed, hands roaming all over each other. He slid a hand up my dress, coming to rest on a sore spot. I winced, shoving his hands away and scrambling off his lap. His eyes were wild with concern.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's nothing. I hurt myself the other day, and you just touched the spot... it's not a big deal, don't worry about it." I smiled, straddling him again and diving in for a kiss that he dodged away from, grabbing onto my upper arms.

"Nora, I think you're lying," he said in a small voice.

We stared each other down until I looked away, tears rising into my eyes. I swiped at my nose, sniffling. This was not going to happen. No, no, no. Please. Not now. Out came the tears anyway, all at once like a rainstorm. Josh collected me into his arms, petting my hair, kissing my head, telling me to let it out, letting me pretend just for a second that he was John. When I'd finally calmed down enough to talk, I pulled away from the security of his arms.

"Remember how I told you that Tommy, my... guardian... is sort of... mean?" I started tentatively.

He nodded. "Well," my eyes darted around the room, I couldn't look at him. "he sort of... he sometimes... h-hurts me. Yeah."

"What do you mean?" he asked, slowly moving closer.

"I think you know what I mean."

"If you won't tell me, show me."

I weighed my options quickly, finally relenting when I realized he'd probably make me do it anyway. Gulping, I peeled my dress off, tossing it to the floor as Josh's wide eyes took in the bruises. His left hand clenched into a fist, rising to his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut, turning away. I drew my knees up into my chest, waiting for him to say something, anything to let me know what he was feeling.

"Christ. Fucking hell!" he yelled, slamming his hands down on the bed.

I jumped, shrinking into the corner, the room suddenly dropping ten degrees. He put his hands on my knees, his face looming so close to mine that I had nowhere to look but his furious eyes.

"Nora, why didn't you tell me? Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around! _Now_!"

I leapt up from my crouched position on the bed, turning around as requested. He ran his hands along all the sensitive areas, coming to a grinding halt at my lower back. His fingers brushed along the waistband of my underwear, unsure before abruptly pulling them down. Fear coursed through my body as I waited for him to assault me. Instead, his gentle hands tugged my underwear back up before coming to rest on my waist, turning me back to face him. He gave me a sad smile, pulling me into another hug.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, rubbing away my goosebumps.

"I can't. I have to go."

"No. You know what? Fuck him. We'll deal with that prick tomorrow."

"Josh... I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I can't sit back and let this happen. I care about you. A lot." He pulled back from our embrace to look me square in the eyes.

"It'll only make matters worse. Please. Keep quiet about this, okay?"

"Fine. But stay."

My stomach dropped as I nodded.

...

A series of knocks on the door woke me up. "Josh, honey, breakfast is ready."

Josh shot up, looking sexier than ever with his black hair tousled and sunlight falling onto his caramel skin, illuminating every little detail of his torso. He hissed at me to hide but before I could get under the blanket, his mother came in, mouth hanging open. She swiftly collected herself and said, "I didn't realize you had company over. Come downstairs when you're ready."

She glanced at me with an unreadable expression one last time, shutting the door.

"I guess it's time you met my mother," he said softly, his face breaking out into a grin.

"Josh, what if she doesn't like me? What if-"

"Hey," he said, cupping my face. "She's gonna love you. I've already told her all about you, don't worry. Besides, who wouldn't like you? You're wonderful."

"Oh," I said stupidly, looking away as a blush rose to my cheeks.

He kissed me reassuringly, pulling away to stroke my face and give me a smile that would melt even the coldest heart. We dressed quickly, and I was about to walk out when Josh grabbed my forearm, gently tugging me back to him.

"Just... watch out for my dad, okay? He's... troubled."

I frowned, not understanding in the least bit what he was trying to tell me, but nodded anyway and followed him downstairs. We were greeted by the sight of Josh's mom slaving over the stove, and a man who must've been his father, finishing off a bottle of beer. Ah, so _that's_ what he meant. I smoothed out the skirt of my dress, trailing nervously behind Josh as we sat opposite his father. The Cherokee man spared me an uninterested glance before returning back to his empty drink.

"So, uh... Dad, this is Nora. You know-"

"She isn't nearly as pretty as you said, Joshua."

Pursing my lips, I looked down at my sweaty, folded hands, and began picking at my nails; a nervous habit. I could tell it was going to be a long morning.


End file.
